


Still A Better Love Story Than Twilight

by W4nderingStar



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Jesse gets melancholy when he drinks whiskey, M/M, Sad Memories, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, meme lord Hanzo, soulmate words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 01:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16075886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/W4nderingStar/pseuds/W4nderingStar
Summary: Jesse McCree has been waiting a long time for his Words to appear....





	Still A Better Love Story Than Twilight

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a post on Tumblr and I had to write it. So I did. 
> 
> http://scienceisadesiretoknow.tumblr.com/post/159977284071/mchanzo-au-where-the-first-thing-you-hear-your
> 
> I have zero regrets.

 

 

The ice clinked in the glass as Jesse set down his drink. His favorite haunt was dusty, old, and had clearly seen better days. Just like him. He scratched his chin, blunt nails catching on his scruffy beard. Thirty-five? Yeah, thirty-five sounded right. He was mid-thirties now, not the young punk he used to be. 

 

He shouldn't be drinking whiskey. Whiskey always made him melancholy. He lifted his glass and sipped, letting the amber liquid burn down his throat. Should’ve got tequila. But tequila was for friends. Reyes had taught him that. He missed those days, he and Reyes at some dive bar, his old commander introducing him to other drinks than beer. Teaching him how to find your limit and back off, not get so blind drunk you couldn’t see straight, let alone shoot. Jesse had taken more lessons to heart on a barstool than in all his years with Deadlock trying to beat one into him. Damn. The whiskey was making him real sappy tonight. He set the drink down.

 

Five years. Five years since Overwatch went up in flames, taking just about everyone with it. Reyes. Ana. Jack. Torbjörn’s good name. His own good name. Goddamn whiskey. Always bringing up the past.

 

“Yur a damn demon,” he muttered at his glass, taking another sip.

 

The door opened and a trio of college-aged kids came in. The three boys laughed as they walked around the bar, heading for one of the booths.

 

“Shut up, Juan!”

 

Someone crashed into Jesse's back. He lurched forward, whiskey sloshing over the rim of his glass.

 

“Hey!” He turned and looked over his shoulder.

 

The boy that crashed into him was wide-eyed, jaw slack. “Sorry! Sorry, Sir! Carlos was just messing around. I'm sorry.”

 

The annoyance bled out of him. Jesse waved his left hand, dismissing the incident. “No harm done.”

 

All three boys watched his arm. 

 

“Cool arm!” one said. “Looks top of the line. Who made it?”

 

Jesse tucked his arm back by his side, hiding it under his serape. “A friend. Beat it.”

 

“Sorry,” the Juan kid apologized again, all three hurrying away.

 

Well, if he wasn't melancholy before, he sure as hell was now. He glanced down as his left arm. The metal gleamed dully in the bad lighting, the gears in the fingers whirring so softly he almost couldn't hear them. He turned back to his drink and downed the rest.

 

“Bartender,” he said, setting the glass down.

 

The old man behind the counter shuffled over. “Another?”

 

Jesse just nodded, nudging the glass over. More was only going to make things worse. But he was already wandering down memory lane, no use trying to turn back now. That lonely road was calling him. He lifted his newly filled glass at the bartender. “Thank ya kindly.”

 

The bartender nodded before going back to whatever bartenders did when they were weren't refilling drinks. Jesse ran his thumb along the rim of the glass, staring at the little cubes of ice. He could just make out his hazy reflection on the surface of the liquid. A scruffy, rough-edged outline of a man stared back at him. A thirty-five, had-been gangster, washed up, former Blackwatch, single man.

 

“We proved Gabe right,” Jesse muttered to his reflection. “Guess there really isn't anyone dumb enough to be my soulmate. Here's to us.” He took a gulp, relishing the burn as his belly grew warm, the heat infusing into his blood, making him fuzzy all over.

 

He hung his head, metal fingers clenched. Everyone's Words showed up different, at different times. But they were usually on the wrist, forearm, inner elbow. Jesse had gone his whole life waiting for his to show up. Oh, he said it didn't matter. He was a wild stallion after all, had lots of miles to gallop still, plenty of battles still to be fought. But then there were nights when he'd crawl into his cold bunk, bruised, tried, and all he'd long for was a warm embrace and someone happy to see him come home.

 

That wasn't too much to ask, was it? It was his own fault. He'd lost his arm. What if that was the one his Words had been meant to show up on? What if he'd met his soulmate and they said the words, but he had no idea because he was a damn fool and lost his arm? What if his soulmate was searching for him, but Jesse wasn't looking for them?

 

“Why do you do this to me?” Jesse asked his drink. He lifted glass, a bead of condensation dribbling down his wrist.

 

He set the glass aside and wiped his wrist on his serape. The tickling feeling didn't go away. He reached his metal hand up to rub at the full blown itch. The itched bordered on pain, like someone had a pen to his arm and was pressing just a little too hard.

 

Wait. Wrist. Pain. Pen. Could it—Jesse clamped his hand around his wrist. No. He was not going to jump to conclusions. It could just be a bad itch, he could have hurt himself on—

 

The pain moved, flowing along his wrist like a pen over paper. It was finally happening! Jesse closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the Words before they were ready. Chewing his lip, he waited... and waited. Damn. Was his soulmate going to give a speech? Or did it take this long for everyone? The heel of his boot tap, tap, tapped on the floor, spur jingling as he waited.

 

Finally, the pain cooled to an itch, then dissipated, like nothing had happened.

 

Slowly, Jesse opened his eyes. He removed his metal fingers and hungrily read over his Words tattooed into his skin for all of time. The Words his soulmate would say upon seeing him for the first time. The Words that would bind them together.

 

_ I don't always drink sake, but when I do, I prefer SAKE!! _

  
“Is that a fuckin' _meme?"_

 

 


End file.
